I've assigned all reviewed shows one to
four stars, using the following rating system:

**** = Transcendently Great

*** = Solid & Worth Seeing

** = Unless Your Relatives Are in the Cast,
Think Twice

* = "I Wanted to Kill Myself"

Each review includes a show's Web site address
and a representative photo. Clicking the address will open a new browser window
taking you to the show's official site. Clicking the photo will open
a new browser window taking you to the show's listing on the FringeNYC
site. You can use the latter to see remaining showtimes
and purchase tickets.

In addition, you can find below photos & links
to some of the more intriguing productions debuting this weekend. Each
show will be rated & ranked within 24
hours of being seen.

Please keep in mind these reviews
must be written in a hurry. If you spot any factual errors, please
don't hesitate to let me know by emailing hy@hyreviews.com.
I'm always happy to make corrections and updates.

This one-man show from a novella
by Joyce Carol Oates (who was in the audience for opening night) is adapted
and performed with skill by Bill Connington.

The story isn't about zombies in the conventional sense,
but a pedophile and sociopath named Quentin P. After undergoing a brutal
mugging, Quentin has a pivotal thought:

I was at home in bed,
bruised, bleeding...That's when the idea to create a zombie for my own purposes
first came to me in a brainstorm to change my life. Jesus, at such rare times
you can feel the electrically charged neurons of the pre-frontal brain realign
themselves like iron filings drawn by a magnet. Zombie. Make a zombie. Create
a zombie. Someone to fulfill my every need.

But how to do it? You would want a healthy young specimen.
Male. Of a certain height, weight, body build. Somebody with fight
and vigor in him. And well hung. Somebody from out of town—a hitchhiker,
a drifter, or a junkie...somebody nobody gives a shit for. Somebody who should
never have been born.

That's the who. Now for the how...I decided to go to the psych
library to look up lobotomy...You want to know how to create a zombie?
You stick an ice pick in his eye...

Through Connington's chillingly methodical monotone performance,
we're led through the various attempts by Quentin to create his zombie—but
all the while, it's clear who the living dead in this story really is.

It's virtually impossible to make a flat tone consistently
compelling for an entire hour, and the show suffers a bit from that. Along
the same lines, Quentin as a character is so relentlessly unsympathetic that
he becomes somewhat cartoonish instead of a three-dimensional person (as opposed
to, say, the anti-hero on Dexter, a TV series rightly famous for its
nuanced portrayal of a serial killer).

But those reservations aside, this is a gripping
and unique show, and worth catching.

I'd never heard of Victoria Woodhull, but this play makes
clear she's a fascinating character in American history. The first woman to
run for President—back in 1872—Woodhull was a former prostitute,
a madame, and a Red who helped publish Karl Marx's Communist
Manifesto in the US.

But she also had a number of ideas that at the time were
shocking but we now embrace, such as championing equality, public housing,
and sexual freedom. In addition, her running mate for Vice President was a
black man: the legendary Frederick Douglas. And her supporters included women
suffrage leaders Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony.

Playwright Liza
Lentini admirably works hard to show us different sides of Woodhull,
from her beneficent deeds to her inner demons. Unfortunately, Lentini takes
an almost journalistic approach, failing to make a stand about who Woodhull
really was and effectively saying, "Here are the historical facts; audience,
you decide." Katherine Barron, the actress portraying Woodhull, adopts
a similar approach; and so someone who in real life was undoubtedly a vibrant
force of nature comes across on stage as overly wooden and a cipher.

While Woodhull has the brains between the two, Tennessee has
the heart. And thanks to McPhee's wonderful performance—along with Tennessee's
elderly lover Commodore Vanderbilt, played with equal brilliance by Hugh Sinclair
(above right, sans "old man" makeup)—the
production maintains vitality amidst the various historical events.

The relevance of this play during an election year that includes
Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama is obvious. And a great deal of the information
is gripping.

With some work by the highly capable Liza Lentini to focus less
on Woodhull as an icon and more as a passionate and flawed human being, this
play could have potential beyond the Fringe.

Meanwhile, come see it to learn things you never suspected about
American politics and people in the 1870s.

In 1958, Samuel Beckett debuted his one-act play Krapp's
Last Tape, in which an aging actor pulls out a tape recorded when he was
39 and makes scathing comments about the thoughts expressed by his younger
self.

In this one-man show, Michael Laurence is
actually is 39;
and he both examines memories of his previous years and records his current
thoughts as fodder for his future self's nasty remarks—while trying
to make sense of it all and possibly choose wiser paths.

Thirty-nine is a tough age for a struggling actor
in New York—no
longer young enough to be optimistic about changing the world, not yet
old enough to settle. It's epitomized by this simple story Laurence
tells of his youth:

Kendall was the love of my life. She was 11, and I was
7 and impossibly in love with her. It was my birthday and Momma had made
us cake. Kendall held out two slices and said, "Do you want
the big piece or the little piece?" I said, "I want the little
piece now, and I want the big piece later." Kendall said, "You
should have the big piece now. It's your birthday." I said, philosophically, "No.
Always save the big piece. That way you'll have it for later." She
said, "You'll never eat it
if you're always saving it. You should have the big piece now."

I ate the little piece, and saved the big one for later.

Much later.

I'm still saving it.

I'm 36 years old. And I'll never eat it.

Kendall grew up, traveled the world, wrote some books,
won a Pulitzer, raised a family, and made billions of dollars. Kendall
had her cake and ate it too.

I'm 36 and can't fold a shirt.

In another memory trip, Laurence at age 37
tells his wife that he thrives best in the role of a student.
His wife responds a few days later by giving him what looks like
an adult course catalog, and he's delighted:

What a tender and thoughtful gift. My wife listens to
me. She understands me!

I thought about the august and intellectually rigorous
class I might choose. Something like Kierkegaard's Ambivalence:
A Lutheran Perspective or Privacy and Surveillance:
A Global Analysis.
Or maybe something just fun, like
The Vampire in Modernist Cinema and Literature.

Then my wife opened the catalog, told me she'd already
picked the course and signed me up, and that I'd love it. "See? I highlighted
it."

It was Act Your Age: Tools for
the Eternal Adolescent.

The monologue zigs and zags, sometimes digressing
uselessly, but every now and then it hits the mark with a force that may haunt
you for months afterwards.

As for the acting, Michael Laurence gives
a smart, disciplined, and memorable performance.

If you can be patient with the
lags, this is a show worth experiencing.

It'd be very hard to live up to all the hype; and so,
in all honesty, I found it a bit of a letdown. The script is by the
two stars, who are long-time actors but first-time writers; and that's evident
in the production, as there's virtually no story worth mentioning.

What does work, though, are the thoroughly hilarious
look and performances of the leads, Marc Geller and Bill Roulet, who do the
show in drag as "identical twin sisters." No words of mine will do
justice to this spectacle, but you can get a sense from this production photo:

Bill Roulet and Marc Geller

In burlesque style, the show is crammed with puns, very
old jokes (e.g., one scene closes with Geller saying, "I want to die in
my sleep like my father did, not screaming like his passengers"), and
ribald lines (e.g., Geller tells a good-looking guy "I lost my virginity a
long time ago, but I still have the box it came in").

There are also many other fine performers—the
cast totals 13, which is a small army for a Fringe non-musical. Among them
is Zach Kleinsmith, who virtually creates a whole other show as the newscaster;
and the gorgeous Marta
Reiman, who doesn't get to demonstrate her range in this over-the-top farce
but I happen to know is one of the most talented actresses in New York.

Bottom line: If your focus is on freshness, depth, and
great storytelling, this isn't for you. But if you're cool with gag humor,
colorful characters, and raunchy gay silliness, this is the show to see.

The rise of Nazism, and the subsequent Holocaust, forced
many people to rethink their ideas about truth, justice, and reality.

Among those people
was Arnold Schoenberg, a genius composer who believed music was imprisoned
by melody and who strove to free it using atonality. The results could be
hard to listen to: abrupt, unexpected, harsh. Just like life for many in 1930s
and 1940s Europe.

The severity of his compositions—and the fact he was
Jewish—forced
Schoenberg to flee Germany to Los Angeles, a town more concerned
with flash than substance. Schoenberg struggled for acceptance in the US; according
to this play, he was seldom invited to give concerts, and a symphony conductor
was fired for merely including one of Schoenberg's pieces.
However, Schoenberg's work eventually had a profound and pervasive influence
on modern music.

John Fisher—who both wrote this drama and plays
Schoenberg with very credible intensity— juxtaposes
the titan with a Jew of another stripe in Hollywood: Oscar
Levant (portrayed by Matt Weimer). Levant was a wit
famous for his light comedy and lightning-quick rejoinders on radio, movies,
and TV; but he aspired to make a mark as a music composer. Levant pleads
for Schoenberg to take him on as a student; and while deploring how Levant
panders to his audiences, Schoenberg sees genius beneath the clowning.

Most of the 50-minute play crackles with fascinating thoughts
from Schoenberg about art, its relationship to our everyday existence, and
the choices we all make—such as Levant's struggle
between being a performer who pleases people and a serious artist creating
works that last. Here's a sample exchange about a piece of his Schoenberg
has Levant play:

Schoenberg: Do you think it's ugly?

Levant: Well, it's different.

Schoenberg: Yes. But is it ugly?

Levant: Well, it's not...comfortable. It's not relaxing. It's
not—

Schoenberg: Reassuring. Yes, you're right, it doesn't reassure.
You don't know where it's going. Like life. It's not
an abstraction, an escape. It's a confrontation. It goes where life leads,
to the unknown. We think our lives are so set, so simple, and we flee
from arbitrariness; but this music embraces it.

Levant: So you're saying you don't like music that's
predictable; that's tonal.

Schoenberg: Oh, I do. There was a piece I
heard in Berlin the night before I left. The most beautiful piece of music
ever composed—a violin concerto by Beethoven. Beautiful. Furtwängler conducted
it. Furtwängler! A good conductor, but he believes in Hindemith. Do
you know what Hindemith wants to do with music? Something much more radical;
but more practical. He says, "Don't be so elitist. What do you compose
music for? You can compose for people to work, and for people
to play. You can compose for people to go boating. You can compose for people
to go shopping, and to calm people down on airplanes." That's not music!
It's background, it's environment. This is what Hindemith wants to do with
music. Scary. People say I'm crazy. But a man like Hindemith? Insane.

Levant: Well, we have stuff like that.

Schoenberg: Background music? Of course you do.
Most of Gershwin.

Were the production to fully follow through on this theme,
it could be magnificent.

However—to the immense disappointment of me and the friends
with whom I saw it—the story doesn't end so much as abruptly
lurch to a stop. When the
lights came up, I at first couldn't believe the show was over. The
build-up is terrific; but the conclusion isn't just unsatisfying but
virtually nonexistent. This show cries out for a second act providing
a genuine resolution.

Another problem is that we barely hear any of Schoenberg's
music. In the first minute, we're told Schoenberg is the greatest composer
of the 20th century; so why not give us the opportunity to experience his compositions?

Finally, Oscar Levant was famed for his razor-sharp remarks;
but in this play, almost all the great lines are uttered by Schoenberg.
It's not exactly shocking that the playwright gave himself the best material
to perform. For the sake of the overall production, though, there
should be a greater balance between the two men; more of a focus on Levant's
struggle as artist; and possibly some lessons that Levant ends up offering
to Schoenberg, as opposed to the script's current one-way street.

Considering the standard length of a serious play is 90-120
minutes, I'm baffled that Fisher would write a wonderful
50 minutes about two very different artists, but leave out most
of Schoenberg's
music, most of Levant's wit, and the entire second half of the show.

If you go in prepared for the huge letdown at the end, though,
this play is worth experiencing for the fascinating ideas Fisher
offers us via his portrayal of Arnold Schoenberg.

On the eve of their fourth wedding anniversary, a couple wakes
up to discover their house has been divided in two by an impenetrable wall.
The bed, the TV, the fish tank, even the fish in the tank—all split down
the middle. But the TV still works, and the fish still swim...

The play focuses on the couple unraveling this mystery...and
in the process, gaining increasingly deep insights about their marriage, and
each other.

The metaphor is effective, and the story gripping—as is
the grounded and heartfelt acting from Julie Jesneck and Adam Richman.

What keeps this from being thoroughly satisfying is the tale
leaning too heavily on the woman's side—particularly in the last few
minutes, creating an ending I flat-out despised. Considering the script is
by Aron Ezra, who's a guy, that's especially surprising.

But if the play was tweaked to make the two sides more
even, and the ending replaced with a genuine payoff for
all the struggle endured—both by the characters and the audience—this
could be something special, and worthy of life beyond the
Fringe.

And even as is, I recommend being trapped for
90 minutes by Walls. It may make you think about relationships
in new ways and consider tearing down some walls yourself.

A musical parody of the 1980s cartoon series Jem
and the Holograms (whose
heroine's catch phrase was "truly outrageous!"), this gleefully
over-the-top version stars Glennis
McMurray as Gem and Eliza
Skinner as her nemesis Spizzaz. McMurray & Skinner are an award-winning
comedy duo who ordinarily make up musicals on the spot as I
Eat Pandas—and do so brilliantly—so it's a great kick
to see them act in a "real" musical, complete with garish costumes
and wigs (the creations of Angela Harner and Todd Barnes) whose
super-bright colors are pitch-perfect for a cartoon world.

Other NYC comedy giants in the
cast include rising star Jeff
Hiller (Late Night with Conan
O'Brien, MTV's Boiling Points, FUSE's The
PA,
VH1; comedic horror musicals Silence! and The Children; UCBT-NY
Harold team The
Scam), who appears only as a video projection but nonetheless
almost steals the show with his snarky performance.

There's genuine charm to a girlish show in which battles between
good and evil occur via a "Who's the Best Band?" content. Writer/co-star
Amanda Allen understands and respects this; and Gem! is very much
a "feel good" production that captures the essence of its source material well
enough to entertain even if you've never seen the cartoon.

Could there be more substance to the show? Absolutely. Gem! would
be much stronger if Allen used the parody as a springboard to get to something
deeper.

As is, though, this production is a 45-minute
giggle. And there's nothing wrong with well-done fun.

Last year's FringeNYC was electrified by a four-woman improv
comedy show titled Naked
in a Fishbowl that was not only my favorite production of the
festival, but—because each of the five performances was entirely different—ended
up as 5 of my top 8 favorite shows of the 2007 Fringe.

The troupe had to split as soon as the festival was over,
because Brenna Palughi went off to study acting
at the prestigious Yale School for Drama graduate program; and a few months
later, Lauren
Seikaly became pregnant with her second child. However, the other two
shining stars of the troupe, Katharine Heller and Lynne Rosenberg, continued
writing and performing in New York.

The result of the latter is this comedic play, written by—to
quote my review last year—the
"sarcastic, sensitive, sexy Katharine
Heller," and co-starring Heller and the "razor-sharp,
fast-talkin', red-hot Lynne Rosenberg."

Katharine Heller and Lynne Rosenberg in last year's FringeNYC smash hit
Naked in a Fishbowl...

...and Katharine Heller and Lynne Rosenberg—with Tom Macy— in this
year's The Boy in the Basement

The show is a sex romp that parodies romance novels from a feminist
perspective. The fantasy-like tale revolves around four hot women finding
a burglar in their basement. They capture him and tell him they won't call
the cops—but only on the condition that he agrees to be their slave for
the weekend.

The ensuing maelstrom of sexual activity and spiritual enlightenment
is considerable fun. So are the performances of the always-wonderful Heller
and Rosenberg, plus their "roommates" Meghan Powe and Anna Stumpf,
their "slave"
Tom Macy, the play's troublemaker Michael Solis, and narrator Nick Fondulis.
Plus the direction by Nell Balaban is smart and compelling.

My main quibbles are that the material is a tad
familiar, and a tad unsympathetic to men. Also, Heller resisted a pat happy
ending, which is an impulse I appreciate; but I don't feel the play provided
a satisfying conclusion to take its place.

Overall, though, this is an appealing and entertaining
effort from first-time playwright Heller.

And I would recommend any production
that includes Heller and Rosenberg, who are two of NYC's most lovely and luminous
lights—and always, always funny.

It would be hard to go wrong with a show from Ted Greenberg, the Emmy Award
winning writer for seven seasons of Late
Night with David Letterman.

And Greenberg delivers, performing a mix of stand-up
and shtick that garners lots of laughs.

The Complete Performer is a parody of typical
NYC acts in small venues—improv, mind reading, card
tricks, playing with the audience. It's essentially a comedy club act,
but with gags in place of standard jokes. (If you're okay with having surprises
spoiled, you can get a feel for Greenberg's approach by clicking here.)

My only major gripe is that the end of the show lacks a substantial
climax; and more than most, Greenberg should understand the importance of a
great punchline.

In the same vein, the show felt too short
and one-note at 30 minutes. I would've preferred Greenberg went on for another
15 to build on the foundation he'd created and take the audience to
a whole new level.

Then again, one can't get terribly upset with a show that
leaves you wanting more...

If you'd enjoy quirky laughs from a seasoned pro,
come catch this; and hang out afterwards to chat with Greenberg,
who's one of the friendliest Emmy winners you're ever likely to meet.

As musicals such as The Producers and TV series such
as
Encourage have amply demonstrated, there's a lot of entertainment to
be found in shows about show biz.

This musical comedy starts off on the same path, creating
a wildly kinetic story about Perez Hilton, a blogger so popular that
celebrities such as R. Kelly and the Olsen twins call in to complain if he
neglects to write something about them for even a few hours.

Unfortunately, the tale goes careening off track with the
introduction of a stale and painfully dumb plot involving Arab terrorists.
My advice to the writers: Cut the awful Middle East
material and stay focused on Hollywood.

Otherwise, this
production offers a number of delights, including lively songs by Randy Blair
(who is also Perez) and Zach Redler, snappy direction by Connor Gallagher,
and a cast with some exceptionally talented singer/actors.

Of the latter, my personal favorite is Dana Steingold, who
plays Perez's assistant but comes off as the star, virtually stopping
the show every time she appears with her charisma, superb comedic timing, and
Broadway-caliber singing voice. (If you're in the industry, hire this woman
immediately...)

Also stellar are Andrew Keenan-Bolger, a magnetic performer
who tackles multiple roles (including Zac Efron) with seemingly limitless energy;
and Laura Jordan, who does a spot-on impersonation of Kathy
Griffin that's consistently hilarious.

Perez Hilton Saves the Universe is one of the dozen FringeNYC
2008 shows extended for the Encore
Series. If you're in the mood for something silly,
and can overlook the out-of-place terrorist nonsense, this is worth catching.

As this show's title indicates, opera composer Jeffrey
Lependorf has
turned a podcast in which Tim Gunn comments on an episode of Bravo TV's Project
Runway into a one-hour Sturm und Drang. The hyped-up
drama of the opera music allows Lependorf to poke gentle fun at how Gunn—and,
by extension, the entire fashion industry—places life-and-death seriousness
on issues that most of us would consider minor or frivolous.

The effect is
heightened by the fine singing of John Schenkel, who has a plastic
comedic face that emphasizes Gunn's more absurd lines with wit and charm. You
can get a feel for the whole show by simply imagining Schenkel (above) singing
with expressive power Gunn-isms such as these:

I mean, this was extremely disrespectful and it really
made me want to blow, and I was close to blowing, and there’s
a whole thing with me and Angela and Vincent where I am challenging
them to tell me what’s going on, again, this is now for the
second time, and at this point the dress is much more fully developed and
frankly speaking, it’s a homely bag of garbage—I'm sorry—and
I say to Vincent, “this does not look like design, this looks like
dressmaking, and not nice dressmaking.”

Give
me a break, save it. And then these ridiculous epaulette sleeves—I
mean, talk about “Beam me up, Scotty.” I mean, where were they
going, to Judy Jetson's birthday party?

Lependorf
also takes part in the ironic fun, playing his music live on piano. (To hear
an excerpt from the production via iTunes, please click here.)

Main problem: This is a one-joke show, and
so really drags at its hour length. (Especially when you realize the entire
episode Gunn is commenting on, sans commercials, runs only 45 minutes!)

The
production also tries too hard to make Gunn appear silly, when the truth is Project
Runway really does
have genuine drama amidst the frills and fluff.

If Lependorf wants to "make
it work," he'd do well to edit Gunn's monologue into something much tighter—say,
20-30 minutes—and that highlights not only the ridiculousness of
the reality show but also the fascinating aspects that make us keep tuning
in.

If Lependorf then applied the same technique to a few
other choice targets—say,
a pundit debate on The McLaughlin
Group—and Schenkel performed them back to back for a more meaty
and diverse hour, I'm guessing the result would be a livelier production.

That said, this unique show is worth experiencing
if you have the patience to sit through 60 minutes for an extended giggle...and
for the delightful company of two very sharp musical talents.

Nobody gets to choose his or her
relatives. But some of us are luckier than others.

Brad Lawrence definitely didn't win
the lottery in this area. His autobiographical
one-man show focuses on his "trailer trash" family in Missouri's
Ozarks, who Lawrence essentially describes as having the sensitivity of rocks
and the preservation instincts of lemmings.

Over 50 minutes, Lawrence tells of his redneck kin's
self-destructive tendencies, which include binge drinking, drug abuse,
drug dealing, very bad driving, setting things on fire, and a tendency to get
shot, shoot others, and shoot themselves.

Lawrence describes these over-the-top
issues with wit.

However, he portrays the folks with whom he grew
up virtually as cartoons, failing to help us understand
them as human beings, and almost never demonstrating feelings for them
beyond contempt.

Worse, Lawrence
neglects to spend time and effort to make us care about him, and maintains
a veneer that prevents us from really getting to know him. For example, the
handsome Lawrence performs his monologue in a crisp business suit, and speaks
in a pleasant radio voice that doesn't have a hint of an accent. Yet about
20 minutes in, he mentions in passing that in his home town of Fredericktown
"my Southern accent was thick and trashy when I was a kid." I wish
that he'd spent even 30 seconds talking to us in that accent,
just to give us a glimpse of some of the other layers lurking beneath the polished
presentation.

It isn't until the final minutes of the show—after
numerous tales that don't go much beyond about how dumb and brutish his relatives
are—that
Lawrence lets the mask down a bit and gives us this:

I date a college student who, upon graduation,
whisks me away to Washington, DC, where I meet Kennedys and diplomats and
Congressmen. And I follow her from there to New York, where she attends law
school. And it's then the relationship breaks down; but we try like hell
to save it. In couple's counseling, the question is asked, "What is
your biggest issue with Brad?" And she says, "Brad is always on
the outside looking in. Wherever we go, whatever we do, whoever we meet,
he is always a stranger..."

I can't argue. I know what I am. I'm the one who crawled
out of the dark wood, and filed down his claws, and filed down his fangs,
and learned to ride the subway in midtown and go to work. And pass.

That's fine, honest writing.

But I wish Lawrence had started with this, to provide
us with context and allow us to connect with him; and then dug beneath the
surface facts of his family's misadventures to offer insights to both us and
himself.

That said, all of us are in some ways scarred by childhood;
and there are times when we all feel like outsiders or imposters. It's
capturing that universal feeling of embarrassment, even horror, about the hidden
behavior of family members that gives this show its strength.

If FringeNYC gave an award for balls,
it should probably go to this one-man show by Dave Jay.

After all, would you have the guts—or the gall—to
get on stage with nothing but a guitar and impersonate four of the greatest
musicians of all time? Not
to mention, try to live up to guys who were famous for their quick minds
and wicked wits by
taking on audience questions for each Beatle?

And would you even dare consider
performing your own original songs during question lags and pretend they were
written by The Beatles?

Jay's excuse for the latter is that he can't get the
rights to perform genuine Beatles songs; and further, that even The
Beatles don't own the rights to their songs anymore.

But I imagine it tickles him to bring in audiences
using the fame of rock icons and then have them listen to his own
material.

This isn't parody; it's more like Beatlemania.
Except instead of simulating a Beatles concert, Jay tries to make us feel
like we're having a personal conversation with the legendary band.

Frankly, when the show began,
it struck me as kinda creepy. Jay encouraged the audience to ask questions
of any of the four Beatles by name; and when people complied, saying "I'd like
to talk to George" or "I'd like to speak with Ringo," it was a bit like
having Sybil on stage while folks requested to chat with one of her multiple
personalities.

Adding to the weirdness was the fact that, in real life,
two Beatles are no longer with us. I wondered if anyone would address this
elephant in the room. About two-thirds into
the hour-long show, an audience member did, asking John Lennon what it was
like to be shot. Jay didn't miss a beat, replying with a long and clearly rehearsed
answer.

To the extent this show works, it's because Jay has
done extensive research and thought a great deal about The Beatles (with
the help of his writing collaborator and director, Bradley Calcaterra). Depending
on the questions tossed out by your audience—and,
for that matter, yourself—you
can learn a lot of intriguing trivia. For example, when someone
asked how the band was named, "Paul" explained The
Beatles was inspired
by Buddy Holly and the Crickets; and it was wordplay, having
the double meaning of the insects and of a musical "beat."

On the down side, Jay isn't a great actor, and
his impersonations of the Fab Four are only so-so.

And, as you might expect, his original songs don't hold
a candle to the genius of the real Beatles.

Also, Jay takes care to not say anything controversial
or offensive; which means you shouldn't expect any great insights, or to be
deeply moved.

The show is an interesting curiosity act, however;
and it's both informative and moderately entertaining. If you'd like to try
something different, JohnPaulGeorgeRingo is
worth experiencing.

I had high hopes for this production—about life during
the 1930s Great Depression—before the festival even began based on the
wonderful Woody Guthrie-inspired songs on its Web page, co-written by playwright
Robert Attenweiler and the superb Adam Groves (above right), who also performs
them. To experience these yourself, please click the following audio links:

However, it turns out these aren't
samples, but all the
songs in the show.

The rest of the play mostly consists of long monologues, alternately
performed by the versatile Groves and actress Rebecca Benhayon. These are poetic,
but almost relentlessly bleak, and I'm guessing
work better being read on a page than spoken for 45 minutes to an audience.
That Attenweiler has
two actors on stage but chooses to have them ignore each other for the first
two-thirds of the production, giving up the opportunity to light up the
room with the chemistry of interaction, ultimately struck me as self-indulgent.

That said, the writing really is good; and some of the monologues
shine. (For two examples, please click here and here.)

If you like what you hear, and you're okay with a format that
arguably works better for print than theatre, this is worth considering.

Twelve years after Eve Ensler's The
Vagina Monologues set the theatre world on fire, Lindsay Burns
wants to know why instead of enjoying progress, the cause of feminism
has increasingly lurched backwards. With Britney Spears flashing her "clitorati"
and Oprah championing the term vajayjay (originally
popularized by a writer on Grey's Anatomy simply as a way to get
past ABC's censors), how much worse are things going to get?

That's the concern Burns explores in this one-woman show,
as she performs her own monologues ranging from worries about the
fate of Roe v. Wade, to new drugs doing away with periods, to high school
girls making out in public with each other just for the sake of being popular.

Burns makes some fine points. However, she neglects to
mention that progress really has been made. For example, Oprah is a
powerful champion and role model for women. And so is Hillary
Clinton who, if she didn't have the bad luck of going up against a charismatic
superstar this year, would probably be the first Democratic nominee for
President.

Also a problem is Burns' consistently oh-so-ironic tone, which
comes off as patronizing and, frankly, annoying. Particularly since her observations
aren't sufficiently fresh and deep to support it.

There is worthwhile material here, and a number of chuckles
throughout. But after this 80-minute show is over, you're unlikely to walk
away with any genuine insights.

That said—and for whatever it's worth—the women
in my audience appeared to enjoy this a lot more than I did.

RadioTheatre is not traditional theatre. And it's not
an actual recreation of old time radio shows.

Rather, we are inspired by the artistry created during
the golden years of radio, when sound was king and storytelling—along
with great voices, music, and sound effects, as well as the imagination of
the audience—provided memorable theatrical experiences.

It's not much different than the earliest form of theatre—storytelling
around a campfire in the dark. However, we do add a few 21st century touches,
such as fully scored orchestral soundtracks, a plethora of aural effects,
and even a few visual effects.

As for content, we draw our inspiration from the pulp fiction
era when genres such as action, horror, science fiction, and crime dominated
American pop culture—all genres still thoroughly mined by today's movies,
TV, and literature, but generally ignored or spoofed by the theatre world.

I'd just add that with every gain, there's a loss. Television
has brought the universe into our living rooms in a revolutionary way;
but by doing so, it virtually destroyed radio as an artistic medium for telling
stories. RadioTheatre reminds us of the special power radio used to have; and
as a result, I've been a fan of the company for years.

That said, I was disappointed by this particular production.
The first RadioTheatre show I've seen that doesn't have multiple
actors, it severely suffers from the lack of characters interacting
with each other. And the script is the worst I've ever heard from the
company, offering lots of drawn-out hype and nonsense but little genuine
drama. And while the solo actor, Jerry Lazar, is terrifically talented,
the script plays into his hammier aspects, which serves both him and the
show poorly.

The basic concept is a good one, though, speculating
that beneath the glitter of New York is a seamy underworld where any of us
can quickly be reduced to a tasty morsel for
some animal or fiend. Here's a choice excerpt:

Giant rats! Alligators! People attacked! Missing! Eaten! Right
here under New York City. Under Macy's, under Broadway shows, under the Metropolitan
Museum. Under every church and school. Under our very feet.

This play with songs is a loose, charming comedy
from an unusual theatrical team: Its writer/producer/co-star, Peter Mikochik,
is legally blind, and so are several of the other cast members. In fact,
this show was originally created for the biannual Blind in Theatre festival
that takes place in—of
all places—Zagreb, Croatia.

The story is threadbare: Two blind men—played
with extreme laid-back cool by superb theatre veterans Danny Bowes and Robert
Pinnock—stow away on a ship to pursue a woman's sexy voice, and use
their handicap to get jobs on the ship's band even though they have no experience
(because "everybody knows it's hip to hire blind musicians"). There actually
isn't much more to the script, so if you go to the theatre for great writing,
this isn't the production to choose.

More interesting is the inside joke
of the show. In real life, Bowes and Pinnock can see; but the play's
actual two-man band can't.

The latter consist of Peter Mikochik on guitar and bass,
and George Ashiotis on keyboards and digital drums; and their music and singing
is by far the best part of the show. One song in particular is
a showstopper—Look
Into My World, which is written, played, and sung by George Ashiotis,
and conveys so much heart and soul that it's almost worth the price of admission.

Also highly memorable is the beautiful Alexia Tate, who
portrays the ship's fiery captain, and demonstrates both star quality
and a gorgeous singing voice.

Again, the story is almost nonexistent. Most of the songs aren't
noteworthy, either. But the musical quality of
the band, the talent of the lead actors, and the warm camaraderie radiated
by the entire cast makes this a unique feel-good show worth considering.

And their idea for this show is a fine one, playing two
British waifs named Willy and Willy who, "born unto
the loins of unfit mums have for years known only the sadness of St. Francis'
Home for Underprivileged Boys." For some mysterious reason, Jennifer also
suffers from a perpetual lack of trousers.

The problem, pure and simple, is that their material throughout
is mildly amusing instead of laugh-out-loud funny. It's clear they find the
stuff personally hilarious; but it plays more as an inside joke than great
comedy.

These two gals are smart and talented. They've also got
creds, having trained at UCBT-NY and been members of improv
troupe Ponyboy. Brigid is currently a member of Magnet improv troupe Yes
Andersens and the show Focus (an
improvised & drunken version
of The
View).

I therefore simply urge them
to be more ruthless about their writing; and to relentlessly test out and
hone material before tough audiences before bringing bits to a major spotlight
such as FringeNYC.

That said, Boyle & Subrin have a lovely, warm chemistry; and
I hope they keep working to perfect their craft.

This 30-minute show was designed to travel around hospitals
in New York and entertain sick children aged 3-8.

And after
chatting with its author, the lovely & luminous Liza
Lentini (Artistic Director of the Elephant
Theater company—and
also the playwright of a wildly different production at this year's festival,
Woodhull: A Play About the First Woman Who Ran for
President), I have no doubt Thumbelina succeeds for its
target audience. This tale of a very, very little girl who becomes separated
from her mother and must exercise wit, wiles, and courage to get
back home is sure to be resonant for children stranded in a hospital and
battling diseases that appear inexplicably malevolent.

At the opening Fringe performance I attended, though, the audience
was 100% adult. That's not who the show is aiming for; but since it's
the reality, I feel impelled to effectively kick a puppy here and mention the
tale has logic and consistency issues.

For example, when Thumbelina encounters a spider, there's an
awkward and annoying speech about how spiders in houses are good for
the environment because they kill nasty bugs, but that spiders in remote
woods can be dangerous. The truth is spiders that bite reside even
in households, and care must be taken anywhere to differentiate between
arachnids that help and harm people.

Another problematic scene involves a "Mr. Mosquito" who
threatens Thumbelina and a sparrow. Why a tiny mosquito would worry a
sparrow many times its size is never explained. Anyway, instead of using her
wits, Thumbelina wins the day by simply swinging her fists and legs and beating
the mosquito to within an inch of its life while chiding "him" for
wanting to suck their blood. In fact, it's only female mosquitoes who suck
blood; and they do it to get nutrients that help them develop their eggs—i.e.,
have their own children.

I was also a bit appalled that
the "costumes"
of the actors consisted of t-shirts advertising the company's Web site. That's
not a great way to promote suspension of disbelief.

All these points may strike you as excessive nit-picking; but
there were enough less-than-perfect choices sprinkled throughout
to make the play feel random and unfocused instead of expressing a clear
vision.

On the up side, all four performers—Mollie Lohinski as
the heroine, Christine Seisler as the mom, and Chris Van Jura and Cheri Haller
as a variety of characters—are adorable
and very kid-friendly. And at key points the show actively encourages audience
interaction (e.g., clapping, shouting), which children will love.

Bottom line: This isn't a show you want to attend by yourself.
But if you bring kids—especially little girls—you're all likely
to have a good time.

The most interesting aspect of this play is its attempt
to show us the inner mind of its main character Brian—whose name,
of course, is an anagram for "Brain" (above
left, played with nerdish energy by David Jenkins). Brian's a successful
architect because his insightful visions result in designs no one else can
dream up. This blessing is also a curse, though, because he can't turn the
visions off; for example, when Brian eats a sandwich, he can "see" it
enter his body and and slowly get digested.

Thanks to director Jessica
Fisch and video designer Jesse Garrison, we can see these things too—via
two large projection areas above the stage.

Unfortunately, the choices for images aren't sufficiently
disciplined. A
prime example is described by Billie
Cohen of Time
Out New York, who began her own review as follows: "I
never thought I’d
be watching a play with my hands in front of my eyes; but when grotesque
tumors are flashing by on slide projections, you do what you gotta do." Indeed.
So I appreciated the intention, but not so much the execution.

The same goes for the other external projection of the
main character's thoughts: a redheaded man who only Brian can see and hear.
Brian believes the man represents the father he never knew. Towards the end,
we learn a different and much more chilling explanation—and
it's the most effective scene of the play.

Along similar lines, the plot is riddled with logic
and credibility problems, ranging from the inexplicable behavior of Brian's
psychiatrist (played in such an irritating over-the-top manner that I began
to cringe every time she appeared) to Brian's eventual love interest, whose
motivation initially makes no sense and, after the play's big revelation, still makes
no sense.

More successful are most of the performances. James Edward Shippy
(above right) gives the story much-needed weight and vitality with
his down-to-earth yet energetic portrayal of the roommate. Bruce Bluett delivers
two markedly distinct performances as the redheaded man that are both
highlights of the production. And the playwright, Halley Bondy, works
double duty by giving a compelling performance as Brian's unlikely girlfriend.

Especially considering this is Bondy's first produced play,
I applaud her ambition in trying to do a bunch of different things, ranging
from attacking drug companies to working with multimedia to philosophizing
about the value of lies. But for future plays—and I hope more will come—I'd
recommend being more focused on creating believable characters and an internally
consistent world.

Of course, this is merely my opinion. At the end of the festival, The
Redheaded Man won
the FringeNYC 2008 for Outstanding Playwriting; and it's one of the dozen
shows selected for the Encore Series. If you'd like to judge for yourself,
the production is running through September
13th.

The lovely Charlotte Barton-Hoare
is one of the most appealing and delightful performers at the festival. For example,
after arriving from the UK only shortly before her run began,
and knowing no one in NYC, she managed to generate a sell-out crowd for her opening
night through the sheer force of her charm as she handed out postcard after postcard
to folks waiting on line for other shows.

However—at least to my eye—she's ill-served by her
own material, which mixes gothic darkness with raunchy farce but doesn't quite
hit the mark on either genre.

I'd suggest she try hooking up with established
professional writers, because she's a comedic performer with great
potential.

Meanwhile, if you're looking to cast someone who can be simultaneously
menacing and endearing—say, to host a children's TV horror show, or provide
comic relief in a serious film—the highly talented Ms.
Barton-Hoare is
well worth considering.

This play
is about a group of colorful characters on the fringes
of New York—a schizophrenic homeless man, an EMT, an egg salad
sandwich vendor, a burnt-out gonzo journalist, and a mute accordion
player serenading the dead—who
keep each other company at Port Authority.

The drama is meant to be deep and moving. But, at least to my
ear, it came across as a collection of cliches and stereotypes; and at its
length of 90 minutes, about 45-60 minutes too long.

My favorite elements of the production were two performers:
Tim Cain as the Emergency Medical Technician and Gina Samardge as the non-speaking
accordionist. They both brought light and humanity to characters that could
easily have devolved into cardboard figures.

Otherwise, though, I suspect you'd learn more, and have a better
time, by simply hanging out at Port Authority yourself for 90 minutes.

Before the festival began, this show got a lot
of attention for its fabulous production photos—such as the one above,
and also these:

However, interest waned when Gratuitous
Novelty became
(as far as I know) the only show at the festival to stand up its audience.
Specifically, the troupe failed to appear for its second scheduled performance
on Sunday 8/10/08, causing about 20 audience members—including
me, and a reviewer from The New York Times—to have wasted considerable
time getting to the most remote venue at this year's Fringe (Spiegelworld at
South Street
Seaport).

Also not great was that zero explanation was provided
for the last-minute cancellation. A subsequent email to the star and choreographer,
Rob Davidson, yielded this official response: "Our company was traveling
in from South Jersey in extreme weather conditions and we were involved in
an accident. Everyone is ok but one dancer will have to be replaced for the
remainder of the festival. As they say 'the
show must go on!'" (Except, of course, it didn't on Sunday...)

When I gave it another go on Tuesday 8/19, there was
another troublesome sign: no program guides. That meant the audience
was provided with zero information about the production or its participants.
When I inquired afterwards, I was told program booklets did indeed exist...but
no one knew where they were.

As for the show itself: At least for the performance
I attended, the energy just wasn't there. The choreography didn't live up to
the wonderful production photos; the dancing was at times
awkward; and the ideas (such as flashing the audience, or bringing up select
members of the audience to embarrass them) leaned toward the juvenile.

On
the up side, the four performers are visually striking. Rob Davidson is the
centerpiece with his compact, muscular body and nipple rings. But also memorable
are each of three beautiful women—Kristen Szmak (wearing the hat), Brittany
Waldron, and replacement dancer Ashley Vermeulen. Their poses,
hot outfits, and facial expressions were almost worth the price of admission.

This show has definite potential. But I wished for a
lot more substance beyond the flash.

By far the best aspect of this odd comedic play is its star,
Neil Casey (above
left), who's one of the sharpest and most likeable performers in New York.

In fact, it
was a bit painful for me to sit through this knowing Casey is a comedy
genius who, as a member of two of the best improv comedy troupes in the country
(Death by Roo Roo and Krompf), could make up material in seconds that would
be immensely more funny and interesting than the dreadful script
he was performing.

The latter—which was in no way written by Casey—involves
the challenges of graduating college and entering the workforce. That's a
subject that's been tackled brilliantly by such tales as The
Graduate;
but here the handling is consistently sophomoric, offering no insights and,
worse, almost no laughs. (Sample dialogue: "Choices are hard. It's
difficult to choose. And that's the choosiest choice of all.")

TV soap opera actress Jennifer Bogush (As
the World Turns, Guiding Light) wrote and stars in this dark
comedy, presumably to get more industry attention.

Unfortunately, the story is dreadful.
Bogush plays a self-centered woman who opts
to seduce a guy in the hospital waiting room while she waits for her grandfather
to die—and
then, for reasons I couldn't fathom, we're supposed to feel bad for this utterly
unsympathetic character..

To make matters worse, Bogush's performance is at times painful.
Since her character doesn't listen to anyone, Bogush doesn't either; but what
makes for a great performance largely depends on paying attention and reacting
in the moment to one's fellow performers. Tossing away this basic principle
makes the 40-minute play feel about 30 minutes too long.

The saving graces of the production are Bogush's sensuality,
which comes through despite her over-the-top "solo" performance; male lead
Jeff Branson, a star on the soap All My Children who doesn't
really shine here but is always an enjoyable presence on stage; and Joe Tuttle,
the only actor in the production who excels, bringing a fluid ease and charm
to his Death character that generates most of the (rare) laughs in the show.

All these talented performers—including Bogush—deserve
better material than this.

How do you get into the FringeNYC Festival while doing as little
as possible?

That's the question posed by this meta-comedy.

And, to my considerable disappointment, that's precisely
what it delivers—as little as possible.

There's no story here. And the acting, set, costumes,
etc., are all minimal.

What we get is the playwright reading us the stage directions
and dialogue for this threadbare show; incorporating periodic male nudity while
trying to not make it seem wholly gratuitous (though, of course, it is); inserting
the word "Naked" in the title; and appearing to be utterly sincere when saying
such things as, "Okay, I'm on page 28, I only need to pad this out for a few
more pages to be able to submit it to the festival."

Some gay friends have assured
me all the nude and semi-nude men in the show are cute. Okay, fine.

But this supposed comedy isn't genuinely funny or (at least,
to me) entertaining. It's a one-note joke that goes nowhere.

And I'm flummoxed FringeNYC adjudicators have such little
self-regard that they'd approve a
show which essentially slaps them in the face by making fun of how
easy it is to get into the festival by just pushing the right buttons.

To be fair, my gay friends enjoyed this.

But to my mind, it's not a parody of a show with no substance,
but the thing itself.

One of the admirable traditions of FringeNYC is a commitment
to include international productions.

The resulting shows aren't always good; but they certainly tend
to be different.

A case in point is this 90-minute drama, based on a Swiss legend
and executed by German theatre troupe The Talman Ensemble.

The initial 45 minutes consists of three men stuck together
in an isolated area for months to tend cattle, and
going a bit stir-crazy. Unfortunately, their tedium becomes ours; and so the
first act is way too slow and lumbering (relieved only by a haunting
folk song the men sing, in lovely harmony).

It's at this point they construct a female doll as a companion;
and for reasons never explained, the doll comes
to life as a beautiful and supernaturally strong woman. Thanks to actress Claudia
Faes, this also brings the play to sudden life, as we become fascinated watching
how her Frankenstein-like creature walks, talks, and absorbs information about
our world.

Despite the adrenaline provided by Faes, though, the
story continues at a snail's pace...and with an ending we see coming miles
away.

I can't recommend Sennentuntschi.
But I'm not sorry I experienced it, either. It has an odd mix of child-like
innocence and European decadence that's unlike anything one is likely
to encounter in US-based theatre.

When I started attended FringeNYC back in 1999, there were a
whole lot of shows like this one: abstract,
experimental, highly enthusiastic.

Problem is, it's a bit hard to follow a 40-minute program
in which two women run around and around an inflatable pool filled with packing
peanuts in an attempt to "explore the cyclical themes
and dreams of birth, death, friendship, and the rituals and sacrifices inherent
in them." Even when the performers are the appealing comedic duo
Amanda Raleigh and Katrina Wolfe (above).

They adopt this approach because "the rhythmic language
and dynamic physicality reflect a limbo-like state where nothing is being accomplished,
yet a myriad of intertwined souls attempt to accomplish the unseen."

Right.

I know several Fringe old-timers who decry how the festival
has gotten mainstream.

But for my tastes, there's a great deal to be said for being
accessible; or at least not opaque.

Out of curiosity, I checked the reviews of this show from both
nytheatre.com and Time
Out New York. And as expected, there were like field reports from two
different planets.

Martin Denton's invaluable indie theatre site loved it. Reviewer
Roger Nasser's comments included, "A FringeNYC Festival gem...These two
women handle their material and subject matter with poise and sincerity. They
bring humor and honesty to their work...My main problem with
Fancy Guts & Ghosts is that it is really short. I wanted more."

The more populist, and equally invaluable, TONY site
had a somewhat different reaction. Reviewer Zoltan Szalas called it "a bad
acid trip at a 1970s concert, and makes you want to trade your shirt for the
curtain to drop....When the show was over, I found myself dazed in my chair,
just trying to make some sense of what had happened. I couldn't."

Part of the magic of the old days is that Fringe shows were
uncompromising, and folks tended to either love or hate a production.

This one wasn't for my tastes; but if you're feeling nostalgic,
and want a sense of what the festival used to be like, Fancy
Guts & Ghosts fits the bill.

In this 30-minute one-woman show, Caroline Lesley plays two
women who look identical but experience polar opposite levels
of success. The story is, in a word, dumb; and the only reason I could discern
for the production was Lesley wanting to demonstrate how effectively she can
act two wildly different roles.

As the photo above indicates, this one-woman show is an attempt
at exuberance. The character being played, Marsha Kane, is looking back at
her childhood while trying to cope with death and loss; and we're supposed
to feel good about it all.

Problem is, the performance comes across as desperate and
shrill, with rapid-fire shouting in place of quiet strength; and the material
is a mind-numbingly cheery stream of consciousness monologue that glosses over
something terribly dark.

Here are a couple of the more notable attempts at
philosophical musings:

Morris once convinced me that the sky was a figment of our
collective imaginations.

Like the way some people say God is.

That really freaked me out.

But it was kind of neat at the same time, because every once
in a while I'd glace up at the sky and feel like I knew a very special
secret. Possibly the most very special secret there is...

Fuck!

Jesus.

(Considers for a moment.)

Fuck Jesus!!

Imagine if you did fuck Jesus...and he got pregnant.

What does that even mean?

What would you say on the first day of school?

"My granddaddy is the grandmaster. That's right.
God himself is my grandfather."

"Then who is your great-grandfather?" they'd ask.

And how
is a five-year-old supposed to figure that one out?

If you'd enjoy pondering the above, this might be the show for
you.

Otherwise, while well-intentioned, the loud performance style
pushes us away instead of drawing it in; and the stream of words are
too fragmented and abstract to engage our emotions.

The writer/actress seems like a sweetheart. I'd simply urge
her to adopt a more nuanced and focused approach for her future work.

Advertised as a lecture on the history of
science fiction, this one-man show is co-written and performed by Mitch Montgomery,
who's a Creative
Coordinator at Marvel Entertainment overlooking the licensing of such characters
as Spider-Man, Iron Man, and the Hulk. I therefore figured this was a
guy who knew his stuff. Also, according to the Triumph Web site, the
show has been in development for five years.

However, the tedious, rambling, and ultimately empty
monologue comes across as something developed during a few coffee breaks.

The first 30 minutes include some sporadically interesting
comments about seminal ancient characters such as Gilgamesh and thinkers such
as Aristotle. It's slow going, but I was hopeful the background information
would pay off once the lecture got to modern SF, and to such giants
as Isaac Asimov, Arthur C. Clarke, and Ray Bradbury.

But then, virtually out of nowhere, that's abandoned
in favor of a story involving the end of the world...but which carries zero
emotional weight or intellectual interest.

Which means the promised tour of science fiction
never actually happens. And what takes its place is deadly dull.

On the up side, Montgomery is a charming and
appealing performer. And he tries hard to "sell" the material.

But the script is just awful, merely offering brief
and sporadic sci-fi references—mostly to Star Trek and Star
Wars—instead of compelling storytelling
or insight. I can't begin to imagine by
what criteria FringeNYC adjudicators decided it merited inclusion in the festival.

My recommendation to the clearly talented Montgomery
is to either avoid science fiction, or team up with someone who really understands
it—say,
one of the sharp folks writing the comics he helps to license at Marvel. And
to never do a show that promises one thing and then delivers something else.

Most solid writers understand that they should
beware tackling a deadly serious subject in a dramatic
script unless they really have the chops to do it justice.

As a result, a play about US-sanctioned torture is likely
to be either exceptionally fine or jaw-droppingly bad.

This one is the latter...and then some.

The first 20 minutes of dialogue consist almost
entirely of exposition. Plus the background information is already
known to anyone who's watched an episode of 24.

Worst of all, though, nobody talks as woodenly as the
characters in this show. Here's just a small portion of a speech an interrogator
gives to someone we're told up front is from the Justice Department and helped
write the protocol that's about to be used to torture a suspected terrorist:

We've been watching him for a long time.
Surveillance, wire taps. They're hooked into a network. See, we know—stuff.
Lots of stuff. We keep tabs on thousands of these people. We get information.
People are plotting things, and we try to find them and stop them. Look,
9/11 happened, for Christ's sake.

Professionals in any field assume a great
deal of common knowledge and employ shorthand language with each
other. Can you imagine a military man speaking to an expert
from the Justice Department that way? Ever?

There's very little intelligence in this amateurish
script, which is a collection of talking points without
any genuine characters or emotional weight to back them up.

On the plus side, there's nothing terribly wrong
with the performances. Kate Geller, whose background is actually in comedy,
is appealing as she does the best she can with this dreadful drama. And Ken
Maharaj, while he doesn't get a lot of lines as the suspect, is a good screamer.

However, I just can't get past the fact this
play purportedly questioning the use of torture revolves around a script
so devoid of wisdom that making an audience sit through it probably violates
the Geneva Convention...

It's one thing to do a play about a man wanting
to escape from an oppressive prison.

It's another to evoke the same feeling in the audience
by putting on a poorly conceived and executed production.

The script, which was written by the lead actor,
offers little sense or emotional weight. The other male actor delivers—by
a country mile—the
worst performance I've seen at the festival. And the direction appears almost
nonexistent.

The only really fine thing about Panopticon is
actress Meg Loftus, who somehow manages to transcend
it all and provide a lovely, emotionally resonant performance.

At the traditional closing night party of the festival—which
this year took place at the South Street Seaport at Spiegelworld
on Sunday,
August 24th—FringeNYC Producing Artistic
Director Elena K. Holy presented this year's winners of the FringeNYC Overall
Excellence Awards. They were selected based on the votes of around 50 judges
who, between them, saw every show at the festival.

In all honesty, I
usually agree with less than 50% of the awards. But while there were some
boneheaded decisions again this year—for example, ignoring such stellar
shows as
Bound in a Nutshell, That Dorothy Parker, The Amish Project, The Sound of
One Hanna Clapping, Piccola Cosi,The Corn Maiden, Carl & Shelly:
Best Friends Forever, and My Salvation Has a First Name: A Wienermobile
Journey—I feel the 2008 awards got more right than wrong,
honoring some extremely deserving shows at a festival especially rich in energy
and quality.

Please note that multiple awards were given out in most of the
categories, so every show listed below is an award winner.
Within each category, the shows are listed in alphabetical show title order.
If a show is underlined, you can click it to pop up my review.

Paul Cohen for Mourn the Living Hector
Suzie Miller for Reasonable Doubt
Halley Bondy for The Redheaded Man

Montserrat Mendez for Thoroughly Stupid Things

Outstanding Actor (5 winners)

Molly Bell in Becoming Britney
Will Manning in both Choke City and Revolution on the Roof
Hogan Gorman in Hot Cripple
Movin' Melvin Brown in A Man, A Magic, A Music
Deborah Weston in See How Beautiful I Am: The Return of Jackie Susann

Also worth noting is the annual FringeNYC Audience Choice Award,
which goes to the show garnering the most audience ballets (included in each
production's program booklet). History was made this year when there was a tie for
first place. The award therefore went to two shows: Blanche Survives Katrina
In a FEMA Trailer Named Desire and I Love You, Petty, & Favre.

This year's FringeNYC festival concluded on
August 24th, but that's not the end of a number of its shows.

There were quite a few productions
worthy of going on to commercial runs, and it's a sure bet at least
some of them will.

And more immediately, 12 FringeNYC shows were extended
to run from August 28th through September 16th, with the performances
taking place at the West Village's Soho
Playhouse and
Barrow Street Theatre.

Tickets
were $18 each at the door.

Alternatively, you could purchase tickets for $18 each online
via Web site FringeNYC-Encores.com
or by calling (212) 691-1555.There's normally a $3 per-ticket service charge
for advance sales. However, you could avoid this by using codeST (when ordering online, type ST into the
Promotional Code box on the right). This gave you the convenience of buying
in advance without having to pay even a penny extra for your tickets.

I've seen all 12 of the Encore shows, and
they're almost all worthwhile. (You can
click any of the following underlined titles to pop up my review of its show.)
In rough order of personal preference, they are That
Dorothy Parker (my favorite one-woman
show of the festival), Blanche Survives Katrina In a FEMA
Trailer Named Desire (a clever dark comedy, written and performed by Baton
Rouge native Mark Sam Rosenthal, which imagines what would happen if Blanche
DuBois lived in New Orleans during the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina), There
Will Come Soft Rains (a lyrical version
of science fiction tales by SF giants Stanislaw
Lem and Ray Bradbury),
Krapp 39 (a
poignant look back at life choices), The
Fabulous Kane Sisters in Box Office Poison (a wild farce of a play
with drag, burlesque comedy, and such lines as "I lost my virginity a long
time ago, but I still have the box it came in"), The
Boy in the Basement (a comedy sex romp parodying romance novels with
actresses Lynne Rosenberg and Katharine Heller—Heller's also the
playwright—who
were the shining stars of last year's best FringeNYC show, Naked
in a Fishbowl), The
Complete Performer (a quirky and hilarious stand-up
comedy parody of NYC small-venue shows from Ted Greenberg, the Emmy Award winning writer for seven
seasons of Late Night with David Letterman),
Perez Hilton
Saves The Universe (a musical farce with several breathtakingly
talented comedic actor/singers), Monsters
in the Wood (an autobiographical
show in which Brad Lawrence tells tales of his self-destructive "white
trash"
relatives), JohnPaulGeorgeRingo (a
one-man show in which Dave Jay impersonates all the Beatles and answers audience
questions directed at the Fab Four), See How Beautiful
I Am: The Return of Jackie Susann (a one-woman show about the mega-selling
author of Valley of the Dolls that offers solid acting but, like its
subject, is not particularly deep), and The
Redheaded Man (an ambitious multimedia dramedy that's a well-intentioned
misfire).

Encore Series Shows & Showtimes

The titles, venues, and remaining showtimes for all the productions
selected for extension were as follows:

The West Village theatres
where the FringeNYC 2008 Encore Series shows were being performed are:

Soho
Playhouse:
15 Vandam Street (between 6th Avenue/Varick and 7th Avenue). Closest subways
are the 1 train to Houston Street and the C/E train to Spring Street.
Please note some shows will perform in the main playhouse, while others will
be in the more intimate Huron room downstairs.

Shows at the main Soho Playhouse:Blanche
Survives Katrina In a FEMA Trailer Named Desire, JohnPaulGeorgeRingo, Monsters
in the Wood, and See How Beautiful I Am: The Return of Jackie Susann.

Shows at the Soho Playhouse's downstairs Huron room: That
Dorothy Parker and The Complete Performer.

Barrow
Street Theatre: 27 Barrow Street (off 7th Avenue, South
of Christopher Street). Closest subways are the 1 train to
Christopher Street, and the A/B/C/D/E/F/V train to West 4th Street.

Please note that these
extra performances were not organized
by the folks who run FringeNYC, but by Britt Lafield and John Pinckard.
To learn more, please visit FringeNYC-Encores.com
and click the About Us/Staff
option.

Please also note that while they're not
part of the Encore Series, two FringeNYC 2008 shows also enjoyed extended
runs.

Specifically, The
Death of the Ball Turret Gunner played at 8:00 pm in September
at The
Space, 42-16 West Street in Long Island City, Queens. (Nearest subway
stops are the N/W/7 train at Queensborough Plaza and the G/E/V/R train at
Queens Plaza on the southeast corner of Queens Boulevard and Jackson Avenue.)

And Kansas
City or Along the Way played at 8:00 pm in September
at The Access Theater,
380 Broadway at White Street (two blocks south of Canal Street),
4th Floor. For my review, please click here.

The FringeNYC extensions
were a great chance to catch shows missed during the festival; and also
an opportunity to take friends to productions you saw during the festival
and loved.

For information on ticket
price options (which range from $15 for single tickets,
to $12 each when you commit to buying 10 tickets, to an all-you-can-see
pass for $500), please click here. (Please note it's no longer possible
to purchase tickets for 2008 because the 12th Annual Festival
is over.)

To search
for a show based on its title, company, writer, director, choreographer,
category, date, time, venue, neighborhood, or place of origin, please
click here.

Opinions about fast food are way more
subjective than theatre reviews. That said, if you're seeking quick nourishment
before racing to your next show, here are some personal favorite eateries
located in FringeNYC venue neighborhoods:

When in the lower
West Village for Venues 8 &9—The
Cherry Lane and The Studio @ Cherry Lane—check
out Bleecker Street Pizza, which is at 69 7th Avenue
South (off Bleecker Street; 212/924-4466; typically open until 2:00 am).
Not only is this place better than both John's and Joe's (the two other
pizza giants in the neighborhood), I'd argue it's the best thin-crust
pizza in Manhattan.

Also nearby is the West Village branch
of Amy's Bread at 250 Bleecker Street (between 6th
and 7th Avenues; 212/675-7802),
which offers a variety of crusty, chewy bread, plus such other treats
as richly creamy cupcakes and cakes. In addition, the store carries 20
different types of delicious healthy sandwiches, made fresh every day...and,
on Mondays through Fridays past 5:00 pm, sold for half-price! (Note: There
are four sandwiches that aren't discounted—the
Cuban, Grilled Focaccia with Goat Cheese, Grilled Genoa Salami and Mozzarella,
and Imported Brie and Apple—because
the store makes these at 5:00
pm specifically for the evening crowd.)

When theatre-going
at Venues 12 & 13—The Players Theatre
and The Players Loft—investigate
the Indian Bread Co. at 194 Bleecker Street (between
6th Avenue and MacDougal). It offers a tasty hybrid of traditional Indian
breads with the sandwich, creating unique spicy meat-filled wraps.

When seeing shows
in the upper West Village at Venue 10, The New School for Drama, visit
the wondrous Chelsea Market at 75 9th Avenue (between
15th and 16th Streets). A few of my favorite shops:

The
Fat Witch Bakery: Some of the best brownies in the country—and
select varieties are discounted from their regular low price of $2.25 to a
mere $1.50 between
5:00 pm and 8:00 pm. My favorites are the chocolate caramel (decadent) and
the lemon (will amaze your taste buds).

Eleni's
Cookies: The animal- and heart-shaped cookies are cute; but try the
chocolate cupcakes with cream filling, or the peanut butter cupcakes,
or the oatmeal raisin cookies. You'll thank me. All these items, and more,
are half price between 6:00 pm and 8:00 pm.

Amy's Bread: Dozens of varieties of deliciously crusty,
chewy bread, plus sandwiches and mouth-watering cakes. No hard and fast rules
here; but if you catch the store on a slow sales day (e.g., when
it's raining), it'll sell bread for half off starting around
5:00 pm. (Check the chalkboard outside the entrance for discount
notices.)

Hale
and Hearty Soups: This wonderful chain offers dozens of different
healthy and satisfying soups; as well as terrific salads. The Chelsea
Market branch provides a 10% discount on soups automatically, all the
time. In addition, if you request a "soup card," you can have
it stamped every time you buy a soup at any
of the branches and receive a free medium soup after 10 purchases.

Another house of treats
worth exploring when near Venue 10, The New School for Drama, is The Magnolia Bakery
at 401 Bleecker Street (corner West 11th Street; 212/462-2572; open Monday
12:00 pm -11:30 pm, Tuesday-Friday 9:00 am - 11:30 pm, Saturday 10:00
am -12:30 am, Sunday 10:00 am -11:30 pm). This desert haven is world-famous
for its irresistible cupcakes. It also makes deliciously
creamy cakes, sold by the slice.

When in the Lower
East Side for Venues 18 & 19, The CVS Cultural and Educational Center:
Flamboyan & Milagro, you'll find some of the best jelly donuts in
the city at the Donut Plant, 379 Grand
Street (between Essex and Norfolk Streets). The store is additionally
a Village Voice pick for its churros (elongated
Mexican donuts sprinkled with granular sugar). Donut Plant is open Tuesday
through Sunday, from 7:00 am until it sells out its hard-to-resist wares.

Another favorite—which
just happens to be on the same block—is
Kossar's, a NYC institution for its
authentic Jewish bagels and wonderful giant bialys. It's mere seconds
away from Donut Plant at 367 Grand Street (phone: 877-4-BIALYS). Kossar's
is open Monday-Thursday, 6:00 am - 8:00 pm; and Friday, 6:00 am - 5:00
pm (at which point it closes for the Sabbath).

When down in the East
Village to catch shows at Venue 17, the Connelly Theater, pop into Gracefully at 28 Avenue A (between 2nd and 3rd Streets),
which is a savvy gourmet grocery store that's open 24/7 and offers such
treats as mini-mud cakes, mini-mousse cakes, packaged chocolate truffles,
packaged health food sandwiches, a fine assortment of healthy breads,
and much more.

None of these stores have any idea I'm
saying this, by the way; but if you're hunting for the best shows, you
might as well consume the best fast food while you're at it...

This year's FringeNYC was wonderful. And there's always the
hope the next one will be even better.

And, who knows, you might even want to participate in it yourself.

The 13th Annual New York International Fringe Festival is scheduled
to run August 7-24, 2009.

Applications to have a show in the 2009 festival
are slated to be available online in November 2008; and completed applications
are expected to be due by February 14, 2009.

But as Producing Artistic Director Elena K. Holy frequently
says, whether you're in a production, a FringeNYC volunteer, a member of
the audience, or in some other way involved, your being part of the performing
arts community is truly appreciated...and the foundation on which
depends the festival's success.